


Empathy

by poodleapocalypse



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Codependency, Dave is CONFUSED, Eridan is there if ya squint, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Gangs, Gore, Humanstuck, Karkat is an empath, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Slow Burn, Sober Gamzee Makara, Torture, karkat as the Seer of Blood au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-11-14 06:46:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poodleapocalypse/pseuds/poodleapocalypse
Summary: Karkat's been stuck in the employment of the dangerous Makara clan for longer than he'd ever care to admit. With the innate empathic abilities he possesses, he serves them as a lie detector and personal confidante to the Prince of the Makara family line, Gamzee Makara. Recently, however, his power has begun to morph into something much more dangerous- something that needs containment and 24/7 surveillance. Something that needs close guarding.Dave is just a dude who's good with a blade and looking for a steady paycheck. His older brother hooks him up with a job for a group he worked a few years with, and he quickly realizes he's bitten off way more than he can chew.





	1. Bloodflood

**Author's Note:**

> This is me having fun with an AU that's been bouncing around in my head for a while. I do plan on finishing, but updates may be sporadic, as I am in school. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Breathe in, exhale/I've poked a nerve, he'll slap me like a whale slaps the sea."
> 
> -Alt-j
> 
> An introduction.

The smallest droplets of water falling into the largest of buckets can still cause the bucket to spill. In this case, the bucket was the single most feared dynastic criminal organization to hold national sway in the past century, and the droplet was a cooking knife. 

A large man in a ski-mask stood off to the side of the cold metal table, only half illuminated by the exposed, buzzing bulb that hung over it, framed by a dizzying array of pliers, blades, and long-rusted implements- like something straight out of a grindhouse film. The light-bleached, bruised face of a young hired sniper stared at him defiantly with grit, broken teeth, his wrists rubbed raw by the ropes that bound him. He sniffed pissily, trying to struggle out of his binds once again, to absolutely no avail. The man in the mask sneered, then acknowledged his orders with a quick ‘sir’ and snapped the phone he held closed. He circled the chair menacingly, and the contract killer kept his eyes glued to the ground.

 

“So, this is how it’s gonna work. You’re gonna tell us the whole story, and if you lie…” He paused for effect, a grin peeking through a hole in his ski-mask as he stalked his way to the reinforced metal door. “…We’ll know.”

 

He opened the door, and a rush of air and light pierced the room. He yelled down a grimy hallway. “It’s MOTHERFUCKIN’ TIME! Bring in the kid.”

 

A few seconds later, two brusque guards escorted in the last thing that the sniper expected- an actual kid. frail, tired, scrawny, and very out of place. The sniper narrowed his eyes at him, confused, but guarded. “What’s he for-“

A smack across his face wrenched a yelp from him, and a wince from the frail guy. The sniper swore, loudly, as though he were throwing a tantrum. The man in the mask silenced him with another smack to the head.

“WE are the ones asking the motherfucking questions, first of motherfuckin’ all.” He points to the kid, who kept his eyes down, staring straight ahead, his mouth pursed in a tight, angry knot.

 

“ _This_ is the best lie detector money can buy. He knows EXACTLY what you’re thinking, at any point in time, and he is here to fact-check your story. Every time he senses something bogus-“ He gestures behind him to the large array of weapons that lined the walls- “-you lose something you’re gonna miss _real quick_.”

 

The kid’s gaze raised to the man, his lip twitching in annoyance.

 

“I can’t sense EXACTLY what he’s thinking. Don’t lie when I’m literally, EXPLICITLY here to make sure HE’S not fucking lying. It muddles everything up. Also you bug the shit out of me, so shut up and let me work.”

 

“ _Watch it, Vantas,_ ” The man in the mask growled, raising a fist threateningly. The empath rolled his eyes. “Yeah, real fucking original. I’m shaking in my fucking turtleneck.” He broke free of his bodyguards and flopped down across from the contract killer, slouching over the table with a pained look on his face.

 

“Look, neither of us want to be here and do this. It's not my idea of fun to watch self-agrandiosed dipshits lose limbs for refusing to spill the secrets of crime conglomerates who couldn't give less of a shit if they live or die. There is no way you get out of this alive by lying. So save us both a metric shitton of trouble, and just tell me who hired you so we can both go home in relatively one piece. They already know you’re not important to whoever hired you, so there’s literally no reason to keep you here if you tell me everything.” Not entirely true. He’d probably die no matter what. But that didn’t encourage his story. Karkat continued- “Money’s money. I get that. So drop the valiant fucking ‘ain’t-no-snitch’ act and give me what they need so you can go back to your mother.”

 

He paused, studying him. “...Maybe not a mother. You have a sister, right? or someone like a sister. Either way you've got someone you’re trying to protect.”

 

The sniper grit his teeth. Karkat's lip twitched. _Bingo._

“Is this how you’re gonna be able to protect her? By dying horribly in a grimy interrogation room?”

He said nothing. Karkat chewed his cheek in concentration.

 

“Let me guess- they told you her live's at stake, right?”

 

Still no answer. He was on a fucking roll. “Listen, dumbass. If you die here, chances are she's going to die anyways. Nothing you do here will ensure her safety, but you can lessen the chance of her dying alone by NOT DYING HERE and selling out the guys who want to fucking KILL HER. Jesus, I never understand you fucking people. You talk about ‘undying loyalty’ or whatever the fuck and don’t understand basic logic in favor of getting wrapped up in your own pathetic martyrdom. Just give us names and go back to your girlfriend.”

 

Somehow, THAT was the part that got him to tune in. Before he could stop himself, he snapped back “she’s NOT my girlfriend.”

Karkat raised an eyebrow at him. “Jesus tits, what are you, twelve? Give me your fucking story.”

 

“There _is_ no story,” the contract killer snarled, “The guy who hired me did it anonymously. No names.”

 

Karkat inhaled deeply, and exhaled through his teeth. Then he averted his eyes and muttered "just fucking get it over with.”

 

Before the sniper knew what was happening, he was yanked forward, his hand slammed against the table and held there. The man in the mask brought his knife and chopped it clean off with the cold efficiency of a butcher, long deadened to his line of work.

 

Karkat cringed, looking off to the side as the poor idiot yowled, trying to ignore the screaming pain that pounded on the inside of his head. He took a deep, shuddering breath, glaring at the masked man with the machete who stood behind them, the light glinting off the metal table only just illuminating his shrug.

“Rules are rules,” he growled, and Karkat rolled his eyes, before steeling himself and diving back in.

“Alright, since you’re a fucking stubborn idiot, new stakes. If you give me names, I can ease the pain, but I can’t do that until you let go of this stupid death wish. Seriously, you were not paid for this.”

He stood up, leaning over the table to get in his face, forcing him to make eye contact. The hired sniper desperately held his gaze, despite the pain. Karkat felt the waves of his fear and frustration and confusion all battling for priority. They stayed there in tense silence for a moment, as Karkat probed deeper, haphazardly gathering things he could use against the little creep. He was young, even younger than he looked. He didn’t want to be here, or do this. He's ruled by fear. All of these made him easier to manipulate, if he could just-

 

A fresh, searing bolt of pain shot through them both, and the hired man's back arched in pain as he squealed like a pig- The man in the mask had driven a screwdriver between his shoulderblades, and he spasmed uncontrollably, as though hooked up to jumper cables. Karkat stiffened, his hands launching to clutch his head, as though to keep his skull from splitting, and doubled over, choking on the sensation. The contract killer sobbed, a snotty, bleeding mess, and Karkat forced himself to breathe- it wasn’t actually happening to him. This was all empathetic pain. Nothing was hurting him. _Get it together,_ he seethed to himself, and forced himself to swallow the bile that had risen in his throat and pooled in his mouth. he recovered, and attempted to keep his face as impassive as possible, a constant veil of annoyance. His voice shook with urgency.

 

“You’re being HAZED, dipshit. No way were they expecting someone of your low caliber to be successful here. So hurry the fuck up and tell me, because I don’t have the fortitude you do, and if I pass out before you spill…” Something dark and laced with fear flashed in his eyes as his grip tightened on the edge of the table. “…then god fucking help you with what comes next.”

 

A cleaver fell from the table, sticking in the ground with a thunk. The man in the mask stared at it, confused, from two feet away. Karkat kept his head down and his eyes on the contract killer. The contract killer’s fear pooled in Karkat’s stomach, and he told them everything, his winding, muddled words wrapping around Karkat’s neck and tightening as he absolved the guilty party, easing his suffering as his own nails dug deep grooves in the palms of his hands.

 

He managed to make it out the door, leaving the contract killer lolled back in his seat in relief, before collapsing in exhaustion against the man in the mask, who caught him and, after dismissing the two guards who brought him, hoisted him over his shoulder. He swallowed hard, as he approached the elevator, dreading what came next- then boarded it and rode to the top floor.

 The man in the mask pulled his mask off, transforming into simply The Man. He walked with slow, lumbering steps, a barely-conscious Karkat bouncing against his back, down a long hallway, lined with kaleidoscopic mirrors that gave the unsettling impression of a funhouse. He and ten thousand copies of himself walked towards a tall, mahogany door. He knocked “shave and a haircut” into the wood, and after a few seconds, was answered with “two bits” and the doors swung open, a rush of cold air greeting him.

 

Gamzee Makara, the boss’s son, ambled his way over to the door, smelling of skunk-weed and money, empty eyes narrowed in imitated concern at Karkat’s small, limp form. “What happened to my brother, brother? He’s all motherfuckin’ ragdoll-like,” He asked, blinking slowly down at the man, in a characteristically hazy way that only served to make it more threatening. The man swallowed. “Overexerted himself in the interrogation of the sniper from yesterday. Your daddy’s gonna want to hear about this one, I think.”

 

**"WHY WOULD I WANT TO HEAR ABOUT THIS ONE."**

 

the man cringed, clearing his throat nervously as he raised his eyes towards the very back of the room. Gamzee's gaze followed absently.

 

Behind a mahogany desk, cloaked in shadow, lounged the imposing figure of the Grand Highblood. His eyes flashed as thick fingers drummed deliberately against the tabletop.

 

**"IT WAS A ROUTINE INTERROGATION."**

 

The growl rolled over the walls of the room like thunder, seeping its way into the man's system, a cold wave over his flesh.

 

**"WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY HAVE THAT I WOULD WANT TO HEAR."**

 

"Well, uh..." He cleared his throat. "You said we should report if anything particularly, uh, out-of-the-ordinary happened around this kid." He gestured to Karkat's exhausted form, which was still too weak to do much.

The Grand Highblood cocked his head to the side, considering.

 

**"PROCEED."**

 

"He was threatening the sniper, and, uh, a cleaver fell off the table all on its own. I wasn’t near the table. It wasn't near the edge of the table either, it just-"

 

"-Fell all by its motherfuckin' lonesome?" Gamzee piped up, examining Karkat closely from a crouched position behind him, his face two inches from karkat's.

 

"...yeah."

 

The Grand Highblood’s silence hung heavy in the air for a long time, as thick and suffocating as city smog. The wheels turned in his head, oiled slippery with drugs and booze. They waited.

 

Finally, a shocking, yellow grin slid open from the shadows, as though sliced from the air itself. Cheshire.

 

**“IT SEEMS OUR INVESTMENT MAY BE PAYING OFF, BOYS. PERHAPS ITS TIME TO BRING ANOTHER HAND ON MOTHERFUCKIN’ DECK.”**

 

He chucked, a dark, chilling sound that echoed through your bones, like someone ran a finger down your spine.

 

**“BRING ME THE STRIDER BOY. I HEAR HIS SPAWN JUST FINISHED UP HIS TRAINING. PERHAPS HE’S READY FOR HIS FIRST CHARGE.”**


	2. Revolving Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I seem to rot out here."
> 
> -Gorillaz
> 
> A change.

 

Dave Strider didn’t like to smoke.

 

His Bro did, but he just never quite got the appeal. He considered this, as he choked on the fumes of a cigarette, the sickly feeling that accompanied every puff coiling in his stomach. His head spun.

 

His mind slowly shifted back into a time when he had to fight for his life to earn the right to a cheap hot-pocket meal and a place to sleep, until he blinked back and took another drag from the cigarette that was tossed to him with a grin hours before.

 

Whatever. It was too late to quit now. He fucking earned this.

 

He fucking _earned_ this.

 

His leg hung over the edge of the cement apartment building, lounging, carefully arranged, poised like an animal. A siren blared, somewhere in the distance, warped and runny in the broiling Houston air. A fire, probably, started by some beer-drunk businessman laughing around the end of another cigarette in the lobby of a Best Western. Or maybe electrical wiring. That shit always happened here. It was scorching.

 

As though he were on the face of the fucking sun itself.

 

The air shifted, and Dave tensed. He felt eyes on his back, the cluttered mess of thoughts dissipating, leaving only a thick fog in his head- and instinct, pure muscle memory took over, as his arm shot out.

 

He caught Dirk’s elbow, and the sword stopped an inch from his neck. His jaw clenched, but his mouth remained set in a thin line. A beat of silence, and Dirk nodded his approval, before sheathing his sword with a flashy spin of the hilt and crouching beside him. Dave swallowed the gleam of sick pride that swelled in his chest.

 

“Sup, lil’ brother.”

‘Little brother.’ The full word. That wasn’t a good fucking sign. Dave smirked, one eyebrow twitching.

“Control yourself, kid.” Dirk stared out over the city, his face a level of inscrutable that Dave could only dream of mastering. “ I have good news.”

 

“What, did your twink ass finally sell enough puppet porn to buy us a working fucking fridge?” Dave bit, keeping his voice impassive. It was like a pointless, petty contest, who could destroy the other with as little care showing as possible, who could silence the other without showing one indication that they cared about the outcome of the discussion.

 

Dirk snorted once, shaking his head. “I’ll let that slide since you’re about to dive head-fucking-first into the single biggest pile of steaming shit you’ve ever been in.”

 

Dave’s head snapped over, momentarily forgetting himself. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

 

It was Dirk’s turn to smirk as his gaze slid over to Dave, and Dave could see the ochre of his eyes gleaming in a glassy, dead sort of way as he regarded him- what the fuck was that? Regret? Dave felt discomfort run through him like something with cold feet was preparing for a marathon on the inside of his skin.

 

“I got you a job. You fly out tomorrow,” Dirk continued, huffing slightly as he stood back up to his full height, swaggering his way back to the roof door. “ I’ll explain downstairs.”

 

The door swung shut with a metallic clang.

  
  


The next day- the day after, to be exact- at around 1:30 in the morning, Dave Strider stepped out of the airport into the cool, smoke-soaked New York air. He shivered, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a jean jacket. A black car was parked out front, an impossibly huge dude standing next to the driver’s door, face obscured by shadow. Dave glanced around, and it dawned on him, as he stood by the door, that this platform was completely empty, save for him, the car, and the mysterious driver. Just what the fuck kind of fucking people were his new employers?

 

The driver did not offer to help with his bag, or with the door. He climbed into the back himself, keeping his bag with him. They pulled away from the airport, and as they did, it began to rain.

 

The drive was silent. Dave, exploding with nerves, had attempted to start up a flippant conversation, to fill the air with something, anything- but his words fizzled and died in the car like a spark deprived of oxygen.

 

As they entered the city, the driver pulled off to the side of the road, Dave tensed, preparing himself for some kind of attack- instead, a purple velvet bag was tossed into the back seat. “Put it on,” growled the driver, whose narrowed, yellowing eyes squinted at him in the mirror. “I gotta hand it to you, man, way to keep with the aesthetic,” Dave muttered, but didn’t argue.

 

The mask was not removed until long after the car had been parked, and he had been roughly led by the driver (“Hey, watch the suit, bro, this is Versace” He’d quipped through the bag) through what felt like a gothically bureaucratic labyrinth, the end of which was marked in the dead center of a huge office, containing  an ornate, mahogany desk, several feet taller than necessary. The room was empty, for the time being, save for Dave and the driver, who stood a few feet behind him- two specks in the unnecessarily enormous office, with the velvet curtains and ornate carpet. Dave let his eyes wander after a few minutes, taking in his surroundings a little better- There were no bookshelves, only big, red paintings. Of clowns. With creepy, lifeless smiles and fish-like eyes, staring down at him from their perch on the wall- The largest of which was located behind the desk, it’s arms spread wide in a way that Dave couldn’t decide was supposed to be threatening or just horrifying. He grimaced.

 

The huge door banged open, and several others, all around the same size of his driver, filed in, pushing and snickering to each other as they took their places around the edges of the room. Dave decided it the best course to not turn and look, keeping his eyes fixed on the desk in front of him. Suddenly, a hush fell over the onlookers, leaving an eery, loaded silence, as heavy, deliberate footsteps approached the door.

 

Dave got the sudden, unexpected urge to run as fast as he could as far away as he could. He did not.

 

The figure passed him, with a shadow that overtook him completely, and Dave was confronted by the overpowering scent of heady cologne, which, he noted faintly, barely masked the scent of blood. He slid into the desk like some strange, grotesque sea creature, bearing down on Dave with a weight he didn’t know what to do with. Dave had steeled himself and crossed his arms, taking a guarded, but what he hoped was a powerful stance, betraying nothing of his nervousness. He stared straight ahead, something cold tingling in the back of his neck telling him not to raise his eyes further.

 

**“SO YOU’RE DIRK STRIDER’S BRAT.”**

 

Dave knew better than to answer, yet he did anyway- “That’s right, born and raised.” His voice was airy in a way he certainly didn’t feel, and he mentally kicked himself. The figure chuckled, and it rolled through him like an earthquake.

 

**“HE DID GOOD WORK FOR ME LONG AGO. DIDN’T ASK TOO MANY QUESTIONS.”**

 

A smile oozed across his face.

 

**“HE ALSO HAD SOME MOTHERFUCKING MANNERS. A TRAIT THAT, IF HE DIDN’T PASS ON, WILL LOSE HIM BOTH HIS BROTHER AND HIS LIFE.”**

 

Someone snorted. Dave felt as though cold water had been dumped over his head. He stayed silent.

 

The Grand Highblood lounged back, his feet kicking up onto the desk with a bang. He snapped his fingers, and one of the suits along the edge of the room rushed forward, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He presented it to the Grand Highblood, who took a swig from the bottle and slammed it down on the desk.

 

**“RIGHT. LET’S GET THIS MOTHERFUCKING PARTY STARTED. DO YOU KNOW, DAVID STRIDER, HOW MUCH I VALUE MY THINGS?”**

 

Dave didn’t dare answer.

 

**“MY THINGS SERVE A PURPOSE. AND IF THEY ARE LOST, THEN THAT PURPOSE GOES MOTHERFUCKING UNSERVED. AND THAT CREATES MORE WORK FOR ME, AND THAT MAKES ME… KILL IDIOT BRATS WITH BIG MOUTHS. ARE YOU FOLLOWING?”**

 

“Crystal clear, Mr. Highblood Sir,” He muttered.

 

**“GOOD.”**

 

His tone turned businesslike.

 

**“YOU WILL BE WATCHING A TREASURED POSSESSION OF MY SON’S, AND A VALUABLE RESOURCE OF OURS. THIS RESOURCE WILL BE UNDER YOUR WATCH 24-FUCKING-7. YOU WILL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO ENSURE THIS RESOURCE’S SAFETY.  YOU WILL  BE PAID ON A WEEKLY BASIS AND THE SUM WILL MAKE YOUR MOTHERFUCKING HEAD SPIN, AND FOR THAT REASON, AS WELL AS THE FACT THAT I WILL PERSONALLY MOTHERFUCKING KILL YOU AND EVERYONE YOU’VE EVER LOVED IF YOU FAIL, YOU WILL GUARD MY RESOURCE WITH YOUR LIFE, AND TAKE LIVES WHEN NECESSARY.”**

 

Dave felt eyes studying him carefully.

 

**“I’M ASSUMING, OF COURSE, THAT YOU HAVE KILLED BEFORE, BEING DIRK STRIDER’S STUDENT.”**

 

Dave paused, then nodded once. The eyes didn’t leave him for a moment, then The Grand Highblood raised his gaze to the door.

 

**“BRING HIM IN.”**

 

Dave heard the huge doors open again, and for a second, he didn’t dare look. But finally, he wrenched his eyes away from the desk, and chanced a look over his shoulder.

 

Surrounded by guards, with a petulant scowl on his face, stood the single smallest dude that Dave had ever seen. He couldn’t have been taller than 5 feet, absolutely dwarfed by the behemoths that bookended him, with nut-brown skin, hair that stuck up in all directions, and sunken eyes that gleamed in a way that unsettled Dave deeply. The irreplaceably valuable resource was some scrawny kid? Dave's stomach churned. That's fucked up. That's all kinds of fucked up.

 

**“STRIDER, MEET KARKAT VANTAS.”**

 

Their eyes met. And before he could process the situation, Dave felt like an exposed nerve, a person without skin.

 

He fought to recover his guard, startled, and cleared his throat. The Grand Highblood went on.

 

**“HE IS EXAMINED BY OUR DOCTORS DAILY. IF THERE IS EVEN ONE NEW SCRATCH ON HIS MOTHERFUCKING BODY, YOU’RE MOTHERFUCKING DEAD. IN FACT, YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH HIM, PERIOD, UNLESS HIS LIFE IS IN IMMEDIATE MOTHERFUCKING DANGER.”**

 

He grinned.

 

**“THIS LITTLE FUCKER JUST BECAME THE MOST VALUABLE THING IN THE CITY.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you noticed a significant difference in quality between this one and the last one, that's because I actually proofread this first before I posted it. --;
> 
> I'm enjoying this, hopefully we'll have a more inner-karkat chapter soon c;
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> ***edit: in case anyone hasn't figured it out, I'm naming the chapters after songs I listened to while writing them. They might not have much plot significance, but their sound will fit the tone of the chapter- at least, I hope it will.


	3. Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lady sings the blues so well/ As if she means it."
> 
> -Regina Spektor
> 
> The meeting.

The worst part of the his situation, Karkat had decided a long time ago, wasn’t the interrogations, or the pain he endured, or even the Makaras themselves.

 

No, it was the wash of emotion he got every time he passed a subjugglator- The few short seconds as he experienced the scope of the mental state of a murderous stranger. The subjugglator’s mind was a dull flame of malice, the sick delight coiling like a snake in his chest as he felt the blood soak through his clothes and the veins pop between his teeth. Then, as quickly as it had set in, it would fade with the fading footsteps of a stranger walking in the opposite direction, leaving Karkat standing, muted, the indignant anger he always kept on a low boil simmering in the marrow of his bones. The complete invulnerability they felt was appalling. Who the fuck did they think they were? God? Just because they could shake a few teeth loose from some dumb fuck who crossed them?

 

_Who the fuck did they think they were?_

 

Such was the life he led here. When Karkat walked, he felt as though he was pushing through clouds of putrid fog- hazes of the worst biles of human essence, bombarding him like needles from every direction, impossible to clear away with a wave of his hand as they weave under his arms and slip between his fingers. It was all he could do to shut them out, but they leaked in through his ears, whispering in the back of his head as he shrugged himself deeper into his clothes, retreating from their hissing.

 

He stayed in his room whenever he wasn’t called for, safe beneath the ground. It was just too exhausting to go outside.

 

When he was called to The Top Floor, Karkat groaned, pushing a pillow down over his head as he buried his face in his bed, considering for a second just ignoring the summon. He pushed the idea aside quickly, as he dragged himself up, wrenching his arm away from the Subjugglator who came to collect him with a scowl. “Get your fucking hands off me, I can walk,” He snapped. The Subjugglator just grinned, snickering through his teeth.

 

Karkat’s lip curled.

 

He trudged his way down the dimly-lit, mirrored hallway, the Subjugglator, joined by another, walked a few steps behind him, the tinge of fear both of them felt at approaching the office seeping its way into Karkat’s mind like frost. He shook it off. He had enough of his own fear to deal with, without absorbing some of these fuckers’ too. He wondered, vaguely, what this would be about- if his last interrogation lasted too long, or he’s been too bitchy with the guards he’s assigned.

 

 

Or maybe it was Gamzee.

 

 

… His steps slowed, and he was pushed forward roughly. “Keep moving, pipsqueak,” came the scratchy growl from behind him, and Karkat spat back a “FUCK you,” earning him a smack to the back of the head. He whirled on them, glaring. “Touch me again and you’ll be dead on the fucking street before you can swallow the blood in your mouth.”

 

The threat was not empty, and the pair knew it. They sneered, but straightened, one crossing his arms. The last thing they wanted to do was be on The Grand Highblood’s shit list.

 

They waited outside, their ten thousand reflections eerily surrounding them like an army of synchronized tin soldiers, in silence. Karkat kept his eyes on the ground, focusing on drowning out the feelings in his head.

 

**“BRING HIM IN.”**

 

Karkat stepped forward as the doors opened. He let his gaze rove the room warily, getting his bearings and a grasp of the situation. His nose scrunched in disgust.

 

Since the interrogation, a new painting had been added to the wall.

 

He half-heartedly hoped the idiot had died quickly.

 

His eyes finally fell to the situation, and a spark of confusion shot through him. There was an unfamiliar face in the room. Nobody was unfamiliar to Karkat. Karkat knew everyone in this god forsaken place. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, as he met the eyes of his newest guard.

 

Who the fuck is he?

 

Whoever he was, he clearly didn’t belong here- He stood uncomfortably, despite the steady nonchalance he seemed to force. He cleared his throat as Karkat was introduced, looking away under the oppressive study. Wriggling like a bug under a microscope, before drawing himself up in a show of flashy composure and nodding a “sup” to him.  
  
Oh, Karkat didn’t like this guy at all. Who the fuck did he think he was fooling?

 

He barely listened to what the Grand Highblood said, as his lip curled and he fanned the flames of his own seething hatred for this complete stranger, who thought he could waltz into this world and take command of his every move. As if he wasn’t already micromanaged enough, now he had a 24-hour bodyguard?

 

He stayed quiet as Strider (For that was how he was introduced and he certainly didn’t listen to any further acquaintance) approached him with a hand extended to shake, which he quickly retracted into a smooth comb of his fingers through his hair as he remembered the “no touching” rule, settling for another nod. Karkat rolled his eyes, stepping to the side to address The Grand Highblood directly.

 

“Will that be all.” He kept the bite in check as well as he could. There would be people to snap at later, and this certainly wasn’t one of them.

 

A crooked grin settled on the Grand Highblood’s face as he waved them out.

 

**“DISMISSED.”**

 

 

 

They left together, The big wooden door closing behind them, leaving them alone in the hall of mirrors, surrounded by each other. Karkat glared straight ahead, his shoulders hunched as he jammed his hands back in his pockets with a huff. The wheels turned in his head, as he assessed the situation. He refused to look at the beanpole beside him, Who had taken an infuriatingly easy, deliberate stride, so unnatural in its cockiness that to Karkat it seemed to scream. Their footsteps echoed in the uncomfortable silence as they approached the elevator.

 

Strider attempted to speak- “So, are you just going to ignore me and go about your business or should we at least attempt to get to know each other, since it appears we’re in this bitch for the-” and Karkat cut him off with a look and a hissed “Shut the fuck up.”

 

Strider paused for a second, his face remaining impassive, one eyebrow twitching.  “-long run. Jesus, touchy.” Then he quickly caught back up with Karkat, his long steps easily overtaking the other’s. “Listen, jackass, I don’t know what your situation with these people are, and frankly, I don’t care, but I feel like since I’m going to be following your ass around for the next indeterminate length of time that I might as well know something about you.”

 

They reached the elevator, and Karkat continued to ignore him, reaching out to press the elevator button. His bodyguard beat him to it, and he retracted his hand in a fist, scowling up at him. Strider smirked. “So?”

 

Karkat took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He squared his shoulders, turning abruptly To look Strider in the face. He avoided his eyes. “Listen, you insufferable lump of _asswipe,_ I don’t _need_ another fucker telling me what I can and can’t do. That’s literally all I hear, and all you are is another prick who’s only here to tell me everything I already know. So _no,_ I _don’t_ think we need to get to know each other, because you’re just another fucking wall between me and _everything else._ ” He lowered his voice, glancing back at the mahogany door, leaning in slightly.

“The only reason I can think of that you would even be brought on board is if something has drastically changed about my situation. So get this through your head right now, bitch, in this coalmine, you are the _canary.”_

 

Strider listened to him with the smirk only widening. “Holy shit, _wow._ You’re a trip, kid.”

 

Karkat groaned angrily, snapping “I’m _not_ a _fucking kid,_  THIS isn't a fucking  _game,_ _”_ and his eyes darted up to meet the other’s in a fit of aggression.

 

Mistake.

 

The familiar, open-floodgate feeling hit him in the chest, as he stared at his own, unending reflection in the other’s sunglasses, bouncing off mirror after mirror after mirror, and behind them, the eyes of someone who was only just older than he was, being sucked into a world that he had no idea the scope of. He felt the emotions flow into his body, and felt his breath catch as he recognized them- The frustration, the anger, the caged animal instinct. The self-loathing.

 

The fear.

 

Dave’s face had fallen, and his gaze dropped, as he coughed into his hand. Karkat’s brow had knit. “Okay, holy shit. I get it. Forget I asked.”

 

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Dave gestured. “After you, _boss_ ,” He said, the last word dripping with sarcasm. Any pity that Karkat had felt flew out of him, and his lip curled.

 

“You’re already going to die out here,” He spat, and stalked into the elevator, crossing his arms in a huff. “Keep talking to me like that and it’ll just fucking be _quicker.”_

 

Dave shot him a glare as the doors closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... this is going to be slow-burn. Next chapter should be up in a week or so.


	4. Better Not Wake The Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Make your moan of your lot in life, spit your mind half-crazy/Gouge your eyes with a butter knife, but it better not wake the baby."
> 
> -The Decemberists
> 
> A minor confrontation.

Something about Dave’s charge wasn’t right.

 

‘ _Well, obviously he was a massive asshole,_ ’ Dave thought as he stood next to him in the elevator, awkwardly silent after the other had done that weird… “ _eye contact_ ” thing again, that made him feel like he was being cut open on an operating table.  Dave was ABSOLUTELY certain of that, but... he supposed that that could be at least partially excused by what his situation appeared to be. The way the Grand Highblood had spoken about him, like an object, a tool… It left a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d be pissy too, if he was treated like that. 

It didn’t seem to bother him too much though. He’d taken it without complaint. What was that about?

Some of that nonsense had to be innate, though. You don’t just wake up one day and have the unadulterated nerve to shit out an entire monologue about how insignificant someone you just met is, and then immediately reveal that _you didn’t listen to a single fucking word of anything that was being said to or about you_ , and yet maintain the same degree of intense righteousness.

It absolutely boggled Dave’s mind. Was this dude kidding?

 

And yet, the way he gazed at him like he could see through every wall he built, the way this fussy, bossy little prick could pin him down with a single look and make him feel utterly naked wasn’t normal. NOBODY did that. He was a Strider, damn it.

 

The elevator dinged to a stop, and the doors slid open. Karkat started forward without a word, and Dave fell in step a few paces behind him.

 “So,” He tried again, though a lot more reluctantly, “Where are we headed now?” Karkat looked back at him like he was stupid, but sighed dramatically, as though having to explain this to him was the most exhausting thing he’d ever had to do. Dave dug his nails into his palm. Oh, this guy was going to fucking catch hands.

“My room. There’s nothing else to do, so I’m taking a nap.”

Dave’s lip twitched. “You live here?”

“Low-ranking recruits don’t leave the building, in case they decide they want to make like a tree and get the fuck out. They’ live on the two bottom underground floors and are surveilled at all times,” Karkat explained, exasperated. He glanced back, shifting almost imperceptibly. “Prisoners too.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. Karkat didn’t elaborate, so Dave chose the obvious question- “Wouldn’t that just make assassination of the Makara family easier, if newbies are kept on campus?” Karkat huffed a laugh, one with no humor in it. He offered no further explanation, and Dave felt a knot of discomfort forming in his stomach, a little more of the gravity of the situation beginning to settle in. He pushed it to the side- Dirk had told him that it would be better for him not to think too much about the Makara family.

 

Karkat’s gaze darted forward, and then back to him, and he rolled his eyes and turned back around, stopping Dave abruptly in his tracks.

“Look, if you’re going to be stuck here with me, there’s a few things you’ve got to know _right the fuck now,_ so listen up, shitlips.” His voice was low. Underneath it, Dave could hear rowdy voices echoing from down the hall.

 

“Ready to pick up what you’re puttin’ down, boss,” He drawled, and Karkat made this weird, puffed-out face, like his cheeks were going to explode. Dave suppressed a snicker.

 

“This ISN’T FUNNY,” he snarled. One of the lights flickered above them.

 

Karkat took a deep breath, and let it out, slowly. Dave could’ve sworn he saw him counting back from ten. Holy shit, this was too much. Finally, Karkat opened his eyes, and stared at him, hands curled into fists.

 

“Cut the shit and let me give you some advice, because you’re gonna regret not hearing it in about 10 seconds, _believe me_.” When Dave finally deflated and let him speak, Karkat relaxed slightly-- but only slightly. “The recruit barracks are before my room, and they’re gonna pick a fight with you, since you’re new and look like a wimp. Ignore them, or you’ll die. Got it?” 

“I don’t look like a wimp, first of all. I’m lean. Lithe. Like a mountain lion.”

“Oh my fucking christ almighty- look, maybe I’ll just kill you first before we even get that far, how’s that sound?”

“Okay, okay, shit man, unclench, why don’t you.”

 Karkat looked like he wanted to wring his neck, but showing a surprising amount of composure, he settled for flipping him off and whirling back around, shoving his hands deep in his pockets again. “Just don’t fuck it up.”

 “Gotcha. Thanks for that juicy nugget of advice, there. Real helpful.” Dave straightened his back, puffing his chest out a little to add some substance to his height and emphasize the willowy muscle that he had cultivated over the years, and tried not to let his mouth run anymore, as tempting as it was. Karkat had fallen silent, and had glued his eyes back to the floor. Dave decided to follow his lead on this, keeping his forward.

 

They entered a common area, lined with barrel-chested subjugglators, pushing, grumbling and shouting amongst themselves. A rush of silence rippled out from their entrance, as the soldiers sized up the fresh meat. Karkat kept a quick, steady pace, and Dave stuck close behind, eyes narrowing as his mouth set in a thin line, impassive.

 One of the Subjugglators sniggered, arms crossed. “What, is that the new ‘Special guard’ the boss was talkin’ about? motherfuckin’ twig.” Dave passed him, with no acknowledgement, and the guy snarled at his back “I could snap your legs between my teeth, yknow. Like motherfuckin’ tooth picks.”

 “Yeah, what the motherfuckin’ fuck’s the boss’s angle, bringin’ in some shithead teenager to do our fuckin’ job?” Another piped up. He heaved himself in front of Karkat, and Karkat was forced to pause. “You been complainin’ about the way we run things, you little freak?”

 Karkat said nothing. A crooked smile spread over the subjugglator’s painted face. “Nothin’ to say? That’s a motherfuckin’ surprise. Finally learning your place as a weird, runty little bitch? If it weren’t for the boss I’d’ve kicked your scrawny ass to hell already, with all the shit you talk.” He leaned in close, and Dave tensed, moving to step forward-- but quickly flinching back, as Karkat jabbed him sharply with his elbow. What the fuck was he thinking?

 

“One day, the second your luck runs out, I swear I’m gonna slit your motherfuckin’ throat and paint the walls with your blood.And there ain’t a damn, motherfuckin’ thing you or your little friend here can motherfuckin’ do about it.”

 

“Alright, I hate to break this up but-” Dave bit off his intervention with a quiet curse as Karkat stamped on his foot. He looked at him incredulously, only to feel the sudden shift in the air around them. As he felt it, a bitter memory clawed in the back of his head of how it felt right before someone took a swing at his neck, or pounced on him from behind. Tension. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

 

The lights above them flickered again. A small, almost imperceptible tremor shivered through the room.

 

Karkat raised his eyes to meet the subjugglator’s head on, his face pinched in anger. “Sure, you ugly, brutish amalgam of human refuse. Nothing _I_ can do about it. But nothing _he_ can do about it? Questionable at best. He’s a trained assassin handpicked by the Grand _Fucking_ Highblood specifically to fucking be my bodyguard, but sure, I guess you could get lucky and snap his neck. He’s a fucking idiot.” Dave would’ve rolled his eyes, had he not been focusing on making sure nobody made a false move. Karkat continued- “I can give your tiny, piss-filled brain the benefit of the doubt on that. But you, you insignificant _grunt_.” He took a step forward. The rest of the room was silent as he squinted up at the challenger, practically burning with rage. “Are you so fucking stupid as to think you’re ready to take on the entire fucking Makara syndicate?”

 

Silence. An exposed wire suddenly let off a rain of sparks, and the room seemed to be startled back into movement. Dave’s eyebrow twitched as he watched, intrigued, as Subjugglators, terrifying subjugglators, began to edge their way away from the tiny, messy little prick who stood in the center of the room. Who the fuck was this guy?

 

“Stand the fuck down,” Karkat growled, lip curling as he glared up at the obstacle. Dave tensed, one hand retreating to rest on the hilt of his sheathed sword. The subjugglator held his gaze for a minute, then shifted, grumbling under his breath as he moved out of his way.

 

Karkat left without another word, Dave sticking close behind. He cocked an eyebrow at the defeated for good measure, and earned a sneer in his direction. He stayed behind for a few paces, then moved to walk beside him. As they moved away from the recruit barracks, the hall seemed to thin, streamlining towards a single, high-security door at the very end.

 

“So uh.” He started, looking at Karkat’s profile. “Two things.”

 

“No fucking questions,” Karkat grumbled. He ignored him.

 

“One, not being nice or anything, since you’re clearly against that and are generally kind of the worst, simply stating a fact- that was fucking badass.” Dave thought he saw a pleased twitch in the corner of his mouth, but it was quickly swallowed back up by the perpetual frown he wore. “Two, what, exactly, the fuck was that about?”

 

Karkat rolled his eyes again, and Dave felt any admiration he felt drain from him. Right, this guy was a total dick. “I told you. People were going to pick a fight. I told YOU not to engage. I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

Karkat scowled at him as they reached the door. “You really are a fucking idiot, aren’t you? You need to  listen to what I fucking tell you to do, instead of going and trying to flip shit when I’m already flipping the shit that needs to be flipped.”

 

“Okay, first of all,” Dave muttered through grit teeth, “I wasn’t going to flip any shit. You were the sole shit-flipper in this scenario. Second of all, I’m supposed to step in when your life is being threatened.”

 

“They’re always like that, moron. Get used to it.” Karkat typed a passcode into a little number pad next to the door, and it swung open. He motioned vaguely for Dave to follow, and stepped into the darkness. “Come on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karkat's been doing this a long time...


	5. Season 2 Episode 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Baby, but my body's in tatters... ...Hit me, I can take it."
> 
> \- Glass Animals

The room was warm- Uncomfortably warm, like a greenhouse- a controlled and meticulously maintained environment that never varied. A little glass box to keep valuable things. Or poisonous things.

 

That was where the order ended, however. The room was in disarray, clothes strewn around the floor, enormous bed in the center of the room unmade, the metallic walls plastered with ICP paraphernalia- a choice that Karkat had long since learned not to argue with. He had left the TV on, and it buzzed quietly with blue-grey static, illuminating the room in a cool glow, filled with long shadows. He didn’t bother getting the lights.

 

even now, Karkat was embarrassed at the state of the room, in spite the lack of care he had for the new recruit- His life was pathetic enough without the added chaos of his own living space. But these days, even as the loathing the mess brought clawed at his gut, he couldn’t bring himself to clean it.

It was just too much work. Too much stress. He had too much else to deal with already.

Dave let out a low whistle, muttering “Damn, you live like this?” under his breath. Karkat glared furiously at him over his shoulder, but he knew it wasn’t enough to disguise the embarrassment in his face. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mister Prissy Shitass Bastard, I don’t have a lot of TIME on my hands to dedicate to cleaning my fucking living space to meet the standards of a complete fucking stranger who suddenly decided to intrude on every orifice of my fucking day-to-day living. Please, give me your advice on how to make things more  _ comfortable _ for my  _ fucking manservant.” _

Dave threw up his hands, in an ‘I’m just saying’ gesture, shaking his head.

“Hey, no offense, bro. I respect the filth, I do. But-” He tipped one hand towards a particularly garish poster- “Can you at least tell me what the fuck is up with the juggalo propaganda?”

Karkat huffed, whipping his head back around, and stepping between a pile of clothes and a garbage bag, picking his way through the room. 

“The Makaras insist on its presence. It’s like a team-bonding thing. Clowns are the symbol of the syndicate. Do you want the definition of ‘Clown’ too, while you’re asking stupid questions? Because you’re on a roll here.”

 

The bodyguard sneered, a small scoff escaping his passive exterior, and Karkat felt a small twinge of triumph. He’d gotten him to break the mask. Easier than expected. He was nothing if not belligerent.

"Yeah, okay, but why do you need it? No offense but you don't exactly fit the vibe of this establishment." 

He shot him a warning look, but didn't pounce. He was right, he stuck out like a sore fucking thumb here. Still, Nosy. "I don’t need it. There’s no danger of me leaving.” He sighed. “They help Gamzee. Which, segue into your role here, stupid question time is over. All aboard the shop talk train, leaving the station NOW.” 

 

He stumbled a bit over an empty ice cream carton, but steadied himself. He heard Dave snort, and growled, before forcing it down and continuing- “ You’re going to sleep in that cot over on the side of the room. You’re not supposed to be more than 6 or so yards away from me at any given time. At night, nobody enters this room unless they have explicit prior permission to do so, which I will be informed of beforehand. THE ONLY exception to this rule is Gamzee.”

 

He reached the edge of his bed, and turned around, hands in his pockets. “If he comes in, you go out, and you stay out until he leaves.”

 

Dave raised an eyebrow at that, but thankfully, didn’t pry- despite his desire to being so thick that Karkat could almost taste it under all the bravado. Instead, he started towards the cot, kicking stuff out of his way as he went, much to Karkat’s chagrin. “That’s pretty specific. I thought you didn’t know I was coming.”

 

Karkat rolled his eyes as he flopped back on the bed. “One- Don’t kick my stuff. Two-” He paused as he rolled over, feeling along the bed for the remote for the TV. 

 

The pause lengthened as his search grew more frantic, shaking the blankets as he grumbled and cursed under his breath, before he finally put his feet back on the ground and flipped the blanket. The remote flew out, conking him in the head, and he let out a “FUCK” as he cringed and rubbed his head. He could tell Dave was laughing at him, and he shot him the bird over his shoulder as he snatched the remote up and scrambled back up on the bed. 

 

“TWO,” he growled, regaining his composure the best he could, “I didn’t. The Subjugglators used to take shifts in here a while ago, but that ended pretty quick.” Desperate to end the mockery he knew Dave was making of him in his head, he unceremoniously pulled the neck of his sweater down.

Flashing Dave a discolored ring of scarred tissue. 

He studied his reaction out of the corner of his eye, feeling a little bit of sick triumph at the way Dave’s stomach turned over and the laughter died in his brain. “I’m going off the rules they had and didn’t follow.”

 

“Oh.” Karkat felt Dave's air shift uncomfortably, as though he wasn’t sure what to say to that. Good. Let him stew in that. Fucker.

  
  


...After a few minutes of awkward silence, though, Karkat couldn’t let it continue, the shame of oversharing seeping into his skin. He rolled his eyes as he punched the buttons on the remote until the romcom he had started earlier continued to play quietly on the screen. “It doesn’t matter, you know. People get the shit beat out of them around here all the damn time. You’re probably going to get the shit beat out of you soon.”

 

“Whatever. I can handle that,” Dave muttered, maybe a bit too quickly. 

“I know,” Karkat replied absently, still focusing inward. Oops.

 

He chose to ignore the way Dave jolted at that.  “Besides, it matters even fucking less because everyone who did it is dead.” His gaze slid over to the cot. “Keep that in mind if you had any fucking ideas.”

 

Dave regarded him suspiciously for a moment, but chose to keep up the facade of composure rather than question him. Predictably. “Sure. Maybe while I’m at it, I can tie my own fucking legs in a knot and curbstomp myself. Save them the trouble.”

 

That actually managed to get a snort out of Karkat. 

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Dave piped up again. “Is that...fucking, Dane Cook?”

  
“Choose your next words very carefully.” 

“Holy shit, you watch this garbage?”

“Way to do the exact OPPOSITE of what I just fucking said!”

“Oh, believe me, those words were chosen VERY carefully. I raised them myself, and handpicked them as soon as they came to fruition. These are homegrown words.”

 

“FUCK you,” Karkat snapped, voice cracking slightly. “If you don’t like it, nobody’s telling you to watch it. Eat a dick.” Dave continued to snicker, but made no further comment. Karkat found himself relaxing, which was...new. He considered it for a second, then quickly wrote it off as Dave just not being threatening compared to the other fucks he dealt with. 

Eventually, his eyes drooped closed, and he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT I lost like, all of my inspiration for a while. Updates should continue. This one's a little sloppier than I like, but I figured I just needed to get back in the saddle.
> 
> Also, Karkat oversharing is like, the most relatable thing I've ever written. As I was writing it I was like "oh dude, I feel you, we've all been there"
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments!


	6. Schedule Update

Hey guys,

SOOOOO Ive been doing college stuff for the past few months, I'm premed so I've had like no time to donate to this, but I'm picking it back up again and I should start updating semi-regularly now that I've gotten into the swing of things. I'm planning on going back and rewriting parts of the last chapter, because I'm not 100% happy with it, but after that new chapters will be posted! I promise this isn't dead- I do want to finish it! Thanks to everyone for the kind words and support, I'm sorry again for the impromptu hiatus!

-poodleapocalypse


	7. Bigmouth Strikes Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And now I know how Joan of Arc felt/ Now I know how Joan of Arc felt... As the flames rose to her Roman nose and her hearing aid started to melt."
> 
> Mistakes were made.

 

Time tends to lose its meaning when you're buried to your neck in the criminal underground. It also tends to lose its meaning when you're actually underground.

 

The point being, Dave had no idea how long he’d actually been here, but every hour that passed, he sank further into the feeling of being led by the nose.

 

He’d been able to pick up on a few things, little snippets of deeper stories; the crowning tips of massive glaciers, thick, solid ice that encased several generations’ worth of filthy secrets. The paintings. The fronts.

 

Mostly, Karkat himself. The guy just kept getting more and more difficult to pin down.

 

It was in the strange way he spoke, dancing around straightforward meaning in favor of weaving a tapestry of insults and partial truths told with a nervous side-eye that didn’t match the rest of his demeanor. The way he’d slip away without warning, leaving Dave standing dumbly, trying to figure out whether to wait for him to return or just head back to his room and meet him there, before he’d return and snap at him for something minuscule, setting off some pointless fight as they continued on their way. The constant visits from a personal doctor, occurring once a week at the very least, more often 4 or 5 times a week, for which he was not present.

 

The entire subject of Gamzee, just in general. He had no idea where to even start on that little mystery. He’d visit on occasion, And in that time, Karkat’s demeanor would change entirely, his stance softening, his tone fading from harsh to somewhere teetering between cautious and mothering, and they’d mutter to each other a little before, of course, Dave was sharply told to make himself fucking scarce, pronto. No argument there. He preferred to avoid all contact with Gamzee Makara.

 

That guy was weird. Something about him was just _off._

 

Generally, though, Dave would follow a few paces behind Karkat as he was pulled from place to place, Standing by closed metal doors with his arms folded boredly as Karkat did whatever business he had to do- Stuff that, at this point of his employment, he wasn’t allowed to know about. Big surprise there. He supposed the Grand Highblood was still taking him for a test drive at this point- making sure he was right for the job.

 

The way he bickered with his charge, Dave got the feeling he really, really wasn’t.

 

“I refuse to believe,” Dave griped as he walked down yet another long, winding hallway, following after Karkat (he had absolutely no idea how the other managed to keep all these halls straight) as they moved on to Karkat’s next task. “That you really think the cheap softcore mom-porn you read is actually good.”

“Fuck off,” Karkat snapped, a response he’d long since grown used to once karkat became the only person he communicated with regularly- He didn’t dare bring his phone out of its hiding place in the lining of his duffel, and he wasn’t about to make friends in this joint. God if he didn’t miss his friends though. He never made any in person, since that would involve proximity to Dirk, but he had a few online. And they were a hell of a lot less taxing to talk to than this biblical- grade asshole.

 

He tuned back in as Karkat continued to rant. “The romance genre is one that is female-dominated and therefore extremely underappreciated in our time. To write off a novel just because it’s on a societally feminine topic is idiotic and fucking _slovenly_.”

“Look, man, I’m not saying women in literature haven’t been pushed to the side in favor of mediocre, faux-existentialist man-angst for generations. I’m just saying your BDSM mermaid sex book is total garbage.”

“ _The Lash of the Tempestuous Shores_ Is a work of art and I’ll kill anyone who says differently.”

 

Dave snorted. “Yeah, alright dude, let me know when you’re ready to take a swing.” Karkat sneered at him as they came to a stop at a door on the right. Karkat looked at it, the wheels turning in his head, then looked back at Dave with a twinge of curiosity in his curled lip.

"Why the fuck do you know so much about  _literature?_ "

Dave's mind flashed back to many, many long-winded, one-sided conversations with his half-sister about a variety of gothic novels, and felt a small pang in his gut. Outwardly, he smirked, and shrugged. "I'm a fully realized creation. _Multifaceted._ "

Karkat looked at him in that odd way he did, as though he could hear what wasn't being said. Dave shifted, widening the aloof expression.

"I'm more than just a pretty face, y'know." At that Karkat blinked, as though snapped out of a trance. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. 

"Forget I asked."  He rapped on the door three times. It opened inwards, and Karkat stepped into the room- a room with a table, some chairs, and two doors on one side, next to each other, one labelled “OBSERVATION”, the other “INTERROGATION.” Dave followed.

 

 

 

Dave’s “training” had had as many consequences as it had benefits, but without fail, he could read a room. Tense rooms meant impending violence, and he knew what to watch out for. It put him on his guard.

 

This was not tension. This felt… looser. Not in a good way. Barely held together. The last stitches of a patchwork quilt hanging over a black hole. The feeling of something about to pull apart.

 

The shiver that ran through his charge told him he was not the only one who sensed the change. Karkat’s brow knit. “What’s he doing here,” he murmured, his eyes darting around the room, looking for the source.

“Who’s ‘he,’” Dave asked shortly. Karkat let the question dangle unnoticed as he advanced to the center of the room.  There didn’t appear to be anyone else present.

 

 _Behind_ something hissed in Dave’s head. Before he could question it, he was snapped around and his sword was drawn.

 

His blade was held level with the center of the chest of a woman, older than he was, with long brown hair and a harelip. He didn’t lower it.

 

“Good A-fur-noon,” The woman chirped, seemingly unbothered by the sword pointed at her. She wore a blank expression, blinking at dave with large, vacant eyes. “Ma'am, you’ve really gotta work on your entrances,” Dave said, his voice not quite as flippant as the words it carried.

 

Karkat said nothing, but Dave felt him move to stand beside him, and, to his surprise, place one hand on his elbow. Rather than smack the arm away and snap at him for his trigger-happy quick-draw, he gently guided the sword down, not looking at him, but at the woman, with a strange, sad expression on his face. Dave looked at him bemusedly, as he sheathed his sword, and almost missed the way the tension he felt seemed to ebb away, like he was shedding it.

Karkat sighed, and with finality, turned his gaze towards a shadowed corner of the room, pausing expectantly. Dave followed his lead.

 

There was a beat of stillness, before, melting out of the shadows like he was a part of them himself, came the eldest Makara son, Kurloz.

 

Unlike his father, his presence was not announced by the heavy, torturous fall of footsteps. He walked silently, like a cat on padded feet, floating out to stand in the light like a wraith. He was shorter than his younger brother, but built more powerfully. He wore facepaint like the rest of the highest ranking subjugglators, but his was more off-putting, somehow. Dave couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

 

Karkat’s expression hardened again, as he rolled his eyes and made a quick series of hand motions-- sign-language, Dave quickly realized-- which Kurloz responded to in kind, quickly and dismissively. Karkat pulled a face, glancing at Dave. Then, looking between him and Kurloz, he slowly turned around and approached the door marked OBSERVATION, clicking it open and closed behind him.

 

Dave straightened his back just a bit. Kurloz grinned a tight-lipped grin, and Dave realized what was so off-putting about his face.

 

His mouth was sewn shut. Jesus H. Christ, that’s gotta be latex magic, right?

 

“We figured you wouldn’t be able to sign, so I’m here to translate,” the woman chirped again, her voice a cheerful monotone. “I'm Meulin. Have you been compurrtable during your tame here with the miraculous syndi-cat?”

 

“Oh yeah. Five stars, this place,” Dave responded, choosing to ignore the outrageous amount of cat puns, writing it off as just another weird-ass quirk this place had. Kurloz’s grin grew wider, the stitches pulling at his skin. Nope, that’s real. What the _fuuuuck._

 

“Motherfuckin’ A, swordmeister. That’s how we Mapawras do it.” Dave noticed the change in language, but not the translation of it- Kurloz did not move, and Meulin was not looking at him. It was as though he was speaking through her. “We’ve been keeping tabbies on you for a good chunk of time meow, and I am here to an-pounce that, as the grateful worshippers of the double angels of death will be accepted into their capricious open arms, you have officially been accepted into the lovin’ folds of our lil’ clan. Congratulations, gangbrofur.”

Dave’s eyebrows raised just slightly. Huh. Maybe he’d finally start to get some fucking answers now. But his gut told him not to kick his feet up just yet because Kurloz didn’t appear to be finished.

 

“Of course, since we’re all up and lettin’ you into the clubmouse, we gotta reenunciate all the motherfuckin’ rules and such.”

 

At this point, Kurloz gestured to the table, taking a seat in one of the chairs. Meulin darted around Dave to sit in the place next to him. Dave regarded them warily as he slid into the last chair, across from them. Both wore the same eerie expressions they had started with.

 

“See, Davidson, crabby in there is an extremely valuable strategic asset. He’s also my invertebrother’s most prized possession. He’s like a motherfuckin’ therapy dog. Keeps his egg from fryin’ if you cat-ch my durrift.” At this point, Kurloz’s arm snaked around Meulin’s shoulder. “We’ve all got one, y’see. I got my kittybitch, he got his feels-slut, and Dad’s got-” The words stopped short, and Kurloz let out a short huff of air. Something akin to a laugh. “Well, Bonedaddy’s got somethin’.”

 

“The point is,” he continued, “Bonedaddy likes his things, but my invertebrother loooooves his. And if you let it get all fucked up-” Kurloz twirled one lazy hand in sleight, and suddenly it was holding something.

 

Dave’s phone.

 

Something tightened in his stomach. He felt sick. Stupid to think they wouldn’t find it. Rookie mistake.

Rookie _fucking_ mistake. 

 

“You aren’t a very social person, are you, swordmeister? Only got six contacts on your phone.”  He typed in the password and started scrolling through something, boredly, slouching back in his seat. “They weren’t too hard to track down. That bitch on the island was tricky.” He tapped Meulin on the shoulder, and motioned for her to lean over, holding the phone out to take a selfie. She made double peace signs.

 

“If feels-slut dies, so does efurry motherfuckin’ purrson on this phone.” The flash went off _._ “Horribly, slowly, and painfully.”

 

Dave swallowed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOOOOOOOOO AND WE'RE BACK!
> 
> Kurloz is really fucking hard to write, so I'm sorry if I butchered him. I had fun with his weird use of nicknames though.  
> The conversation that goes on between Karkat and Kurloz went a little something like this:
> 
> "What do you want? I'm busy."  
> "Not here for you. Wait in there."
> 
> If anybody's curious, Kurloz's ASL name for Karkat is the sign for "feeling" - link here:
> 
> https://www.signingsavvy.com/sign/FEELING/6271/1
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter, Dave finally learns a few things, Karkat is angsty, tensions run high.


	8. Flaming Telepaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is it any wonder that my mind's on fire?"
> 
> Karkat reflects. decisions are made.

Karkat didn’t sleep much. Didn’t eat much, either.

 

He slept in hour shifts every now and then, dozing out of necessity before jolting himself back awake out of habit. He subsisted mostly on packaged snacks, eaten sporadically throughout the week in short binges in front of the television, or nibbling on a granola bar or something as he dragged himself out of bed after one of his many short naps.

 

Mostly though, his eyes stayed wide open, the purple bags only growing deeper and deeper as his skin dulled and his brittle bones became more prominent.

 

Whatever. His health was shit anyway. Sleep and a good diet wouldn’t make his blood work right.

 

That being said, he had slept better recently. What little sleep he did get was unplagued by nightmares or fits. It was almost _restful._

 

As much as he hated the guy and every fucking thing he stood for, he had to admit that Strider’s relative lack of interest in beating the shit out of him was somewhat comforting. It wasn’t nonexistent, but that was only to be expected- The basic condition of anyone within a 30-foot radius of Karkat Vantas for an extended period of time was “wanting to beat the shit out of Karkat Vantas.”

He planted that fever in people. It was a gift.

The fact was, it hadn’t happened yet, and that was enough for him. It was also why he was actually… almost disappointed that he was getting kicked out so soon. That was the only reason that Kurloz would be here, talking to him. Karkat was pretty sure he’d get out relatively scot-free. He was still barely surface level, and a legacy employee too. He’d probably be wrapped in red tape to the fucking nips and then released back into the wild. Maybe lose a finger or two at worst. Good for fucking him.

 

Karkat doubted _he_ would get as lucky when they brought a new hand on board to replace him. He’d probably be stuck with the subjugglators again.

 

He groaned and let his head smack forward on the desk in front of him. God knows what they’d think of next to make his life miserable. Hook him up to jumper cables and flip the switch, see how much he could take before he went unconscious. Pop his bones out of their sockets and slide them back into place over and over until they he could click them in and out of joint like doll parts. Anything went, usually, as long as he didn’t bleed.

 

The second he bled, the games were over. That wasn’t exactly comforting, but he’d learned how to get the blood flowing before things got too bad.

 

Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve every fucking second of it.

 

Meulin Leijon’s vacant stare was all the reminder he needed of that.

 

It was on that note that the door opened, and he was jerked out of his self-pitying thoughts. His nose wrinkled, perplexed, when Dave entered the room, hands stuffed in his pockets, forcing his “cool” facade even harder than usual.

“What are _you_ doing here?” He blurted, the hole of dread he had dug himself into now only serving to make him feel stupid. Dave looked at him weirdly, taking his hands out of his pockets and gesturing around him vaguely.

“Uh… my job?”

Karkat looked at him, flabbergasted.

“You mean you didn’t just get fired?”

Dave pursed his lips and shook his head, crossing to stand by the observation window. “Not that I noticed?”

 

Karkat would be lying if a rush of cool air didn’t flood his lungs at the knowledge that his situation hadn’t changed for the worse. His gaze fell away from Dave, as it all sunk in. Then, finally relaxing slightly, he sat back in his chair, giving Dave a cold smirk.

 

“Well, congratufuckinglations, then. You unlocked lore.”

 

Dave didn’t really respond, looking in the observation window and fidgeting with the hilt of his sword. The paranoia he constantly kept on the backburner of his brain radiated off of him in waves. Karkat rolled his eyes as he scooched his chair out and stood, moving to stand next to him. Kurloz must have shaken him. That was his specialty, after all- being intensely off-putting, despite really being the least dangerous of the Makaras. He was just fucking obnoxious.

 

“Hey. Jackass. Snap out of it. We have work to do.” He waved a hand in front of his face, and Dave swatted it away, earning a hiss from Karkat.

“Shut up, I’m focused. Let’s just fucking- get this over with.”

 

... Okay. Well, that was going to be a fucking issue later. But he didn't have time to deal with Strider's angst right now, damn it, they had to get shit done. Karkat turned and banged on the glass looking into the interrogation room. The musclebound freakshow inside jerked his gaze up, then put down the mallet he held and crossed to the door, opening and closing it behind him, leaving the door handle slick with sweat.

 

Fucking nasty.

 

He took his mask off to reveal the moist visage of Equius Zahhak, who, of the employees of the Makaras, was the most racist, but one of the least sadistic. He was mostly just a huge pain in the ass.

 

He wrinkled his nose when he looked at Karkat in his characteristically pissy way, and Karkat rolled his eyes. “...Vantas.”

 

“Yeah, can we skip the bullshit where you bitch about my inferior genes or whatever and get to where you tell us what we’re supposed to do?” He snapped. Dave raised his eyebrows, his face contorting into something that said, very clearly, _‘yikes.’_

 

Equius continued to sweat, mopping his forehead with a rag uncomfortably.

“...Very well. The woman inside is an informant of the same group who sent the assassin months ago. It is a routine interrogation, focusing on getting employer and member names. You are to use your… thing… to bargain with her pain, as you are usually wont to do.” Karkat sighed. Yeah, sounds about right. Dave’s brooding was briefly interrupted by a flood of confusion. Karkat could practically hear his brain going _thing?? What thing??_ Like a dog who heard the word “ball.”

 

Equius cleared his throat, continuing. “Strider, you will not have to do much more than be ready to strike should she lunge at him. I will be taking care of the majority of the… er… pain-infliction. If she tries to attack him, then she must die. Do you understand?”

 

“Crystal clear,” Strider muttered. Karkat's eyes narrowed quizzically, but he said nothing. He turned back to Equius, arms crossed impatiently. “Alright, lets fucking get this over with. What’s her name?”

 

Equius blinked like a cow with flies in its eyes. “Vriska Serket.”

“Alright.” He made a decision, then. He'd done it once or twice before, but then it was different. a byproduct of contact and an embarrassing lack of control. This had  purpose.

In lieu of just brushing by him, He subtly touched Dave's forearm.

 

Focusing on the dark pit in his aura sucking at his soul, he took some of the burden for himself. If this was the tradeoff he had to make in order to keep the subjugglators away from him, so be it. He could share the load of this idiot’s petty stress.

 

He sucked a breath in as the cold pooled in the pit of his stomach, and he fought shiver that ran up his spine, then, as quickly as it had happened, he stopped the flow, looking over his shoulder at his guard. He had an odd, vulnerable look on his face, his spine stiff and his fingers tapping against his blade. The naked feeling would fade quickly. He wasn’t used to it yet, was all.

 

Karkat looked at him with tired eyes far older than the empty shell that housed them.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this part got away from me, so I decided to make it its' own chapter. Thank you for reading!  
> Please comment and leave kudos if you enjoyed! Updates to come soon.
> 
> EDIT: Oh yeah, if anyone was curious about the races/ethnicities I've been picturing, Karkat is Afro-Mexican and Dave is African American. I don't plan on writing a lot of narrative on their races since it's not really my story to tell, but I figured it was important to say something in-text about it.


End file.
